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Arvians - Grey & the First Hunt

An Arvian Lore telling

By Isiat Squire Carcer

"Pay attention, coal-ears!"

The momentary distraction of bird song was enough. Pain flared from the new fledge's shin, and just as quickly from the side of his head as the staff moved in quick succession, knocking him over like a sack of bricks across the border of the hot-coal-edged diamond they fought in.

Grey cursed loudly and rolled back to his feet before the still glowing embers could singe his smoke-coloured pelt or hackles, and clumsily avoided another follow-up blow from his attacker.

"Good! The embers hurt now, but they are far more a temporary pain than the blade that splits your skull! You are new, but you are Arvian! You will find you are faster, stronger, and more keen of sight. You will tire slower, and survive blows that would have been fatal to your past selves. There will be much to learn, and you will learn it well, or you will be another failed fledgling!" He didn't even know their instructor's name.

His own ritual had only been yesterday! His body felt too light. His tail was all the wrong shapes. His grip had shattered a wooden mug when he'd tried to drink. His head ached from the fresh rush of sights, sounds and scents that simply hadn't been there before. Everything felt overwhelming, and it made his temples throb worse than his bruised shin.

The staff came at him again and shifting quickly, he blocked the blow, but it felt clumsy, disoriented and unplanned. A fluke. Before, he'd been respectably skilled with the weapon now in his oversized talons. Now, he felt like a child, flailing a stick about wildly and hoping for results.

"The skills of your past lives are but the foundation you will build upon. Take into account the changes. Should you swing the stick hard enough to bruise as you used to, you will find you deliver a blow that would break a Stag's spine! Again!"

The blows rained down on him like hail, now two of the other fledges bringing their own polearms to bear on him. He blacked a sweeping blow that sought to take his feet from under him, feeling the staff in his talons vibrate enough to make his palms ache from the force of the blow. He circled, ducked, leapt over another low swipe, and was brought low by a thrust that rammed into his stomach painfully before another blow to his head brought the ground into near focus.

Blinking, he found a mug of water being thrust into his paws, now sitting across the courtyard. Another fledge had taken his place inside the circle and seemed to be doing just as well as he had done.

"Drink, fledge. Ice water will help sharpen your focus." His instructor helped lift the mug to his lips as he gripped it with trembling talons.

"I warned them to mind their strength. Does this hurt?" A talon pressed against the back of his head. New hackles bristled at the touch as sharp, throbbing pain flared from nowhere!

"Oww! It does now!" He cursed, but a firm talon upon his shoulder kept him firmly seated. The instructor's dreampal appeared around his shoulders, the figure of a golden glowing clouded leopard stretching upon her Arvian's armoured and ornate pauldrons.

"Hold still, lest I singe your feathers off, fledge." There was more pain a moment later as the instructor pinched the split closed, and a rush of burning as he cauterized the wound with a purifying flame. Greyson clenched his teeth- No, beak now, tightly, and waited until the elder Arvian was done.

"What is your name, initiate?" The blood-orange-pelted instructor asked. Now that he had a moment to look, he saw tiger stripes running across his fur, standing out against the beige and gold gambeson he wore. Satisfied with his work, the elder Arvian sat upon his haunches before the newly blooded fledge.

"Grey." The fledge answered, rubbing at the back of his head. He brought his pa... Talons out in front of himself, blinking a few times. He could smell the coppery tang of the droplets of blood on his fingers, and see the way the surface of it shimmered and rippled. For a moment, it was oddly surreal. Everything seemed so much more focused since his ritual, and despite all he'd been told and heard of the change when it had come his turn, he still felt woefully unprepared for it.

"Well, you've got red on you now, Fledge. Clean that up, and then back to the group. It will take time before you adjust to the changes fully. You've spent your whole life walking and now must learn to fly. It is one thing to know a thing, and another to do it. Don't trip when you stand up." Talons clapped him on his broad shoulders before the instructor returned to the rest of his Fledges.

---

Spears were the lessons they were taught first. Spears were cheap and easy to produce, especially to the scale of an Arvians. Perhaps it was because everything around the shrine where the fledges learned and lived was properly scaled for an Arvian, but it was easy for Grey to forget just how much more of him there was now.

The low doorways of the unchanged buildings certainly wouldn't let him forget.

The friendly wolf blacksmith from their town had brought a cart of fresh forged weapons for the fledges. At first, they had seemed short, but when the wolf had been holding them, they would have been a pike. Nine-foot shafts of wood with a blade like a Gladius upon the end. Before, he might have simply affixed a handle to the point and used it like a sword.

And as they worked, it became quickly clear why it was the weapon of choice for most of his new kin. For a sword to be properly forged for an Arvian took almost three claymores of steel and weeks of work, plus the additional training to not simply dent or shatter the blade with their strength.

Spears were fast to make and easily replaced and repaired. In a pinch, the spearheads, which were forged the length of a short sword themselves, could be snapped off and wielded in their talons as a smaller race would wield a knife.

"Fortune is the refuge of the lacking. Skill will see you surely through life far better than blind luck will. Again!"

Grey's opponent swept her spear low, forcing him to leap the slicing blade as it cut towards his ankles. He blocked her next blow and struck out with a thrust of his own. The dark-pelted, white-hackled Arvian woman took his haft beneath her arm, before twisting sharply, snapping the spear in two.

He ducked back as she pressed her advantage, now swinging at him with a spear and a half while he fended her off with a broken length of pole!

She got in close, forcing him back before she kicked him in the sternum, knocking the wind out of him. Grey wheezed, clutching at his chest as he tried to raise his hand to indicate his yield.

Then she beat him across the side of his head with the stump of wood. Twice. His vision went fuzzy as he staggered sideways. The female was coming in for another strike.

"Yarsa! Enough!"

The blow would have landed if their instructor's staff had not intercepted it. Grey hissed, stumbling out of the circle and back into line with the rest of the fledges. Yarsa fell back into line beside him with a smirk written on the corners of her beak. Her white hackles bristled in delight.

"You've got red on your hackles, Grey." She mocked him quietly. He cursed and fetched a cloth to hold over the split.

---

Sermons on the importance of the sun and the moons were nothing new. Even before Grey's change, the importance of the spirits' link with the energy of the sun was well documented and imbued into the day-to-day lives of the village's unchanged population. Even in his day-to-day life, he'd been watched like... Well, a hawk, by their Arvian protectors and leaders among the community, signalling out the virtuous and devout. They were always on the watch for prospective new initiates.

Deference to their wisdom was expected and taught. From the gifts of the sun came the gift of the Arvians, and from the Arvians and their spirit companions, their dreampals, the gifts of peace and purpose were maintained, especially among the unchanged populace who lived and worked alongside them.

Grey watched his first eclipse as an Arvian a month after his change, standing in the plaza of their village along with the other Suntouched fledges. A crowd had gathered, though the Arvians distinctly kept to themselves on their own part of the plaza.

The year before, Grey had stood with the rest of the unchanged, watching in awe at the spectacle of the power of the sun to shine a halo of light even from behind one of the twin moons. This time, he listened closely as one of their enlightened sisters gave her speech and told the tale of their kin to the excitedly watching masses, as she made dramatic and sweeping gestures in the twilight of the eclipse.

He followed her tale with rapt fascination, of how the first Suntouched had been created as an act of utmost compassion, of kinship and devotion to one's fellow Arvian. How they had defied their elders' overzealous ruling for their friend, and been cast aside for their dedication when they had found a new way to create their kin, to spread the Arvian blessing among more of the unchanged.

They were right to despise their erstwhile and backward moonkissed kin. They were so fixed in their ways that they could not see the benefits of all that the Suntouched had accomplished. Such strict adherence to the old ways would never permit innovation and forward thinking.

Grey found himself rising and cheering with the rest of the crowd as their newest initiate was brought forward, and under the half-light of the eclipse, born into his new form.

---

They had been made to drag the heavy stone slabs into the training range as an exercise of strength. Each block must have weighed at least half a ton, but between two Arvians carrying each, they really didn't feel more than slightly uncomfortable to lift. No unchanged would have been able to lift them alone, and even a team may have struggled.

Between himself and Yarsa, they lay the thick, heavy slab across the pair of wooden stands that had been designated for them.

On the edge of the well-trodden field almost two hundred paces away, their instructor beckoned to them. A rack of thick-curved war bows rested neatly nearby. Yarsa curled her beak in distaste at the weapons. Grey couldn't help but chuckle as they fell into line with the other fledges.

"Today, we're going to be using bows. Don't give me those looks. I know many of you are capable hunters, but with your newfound strength now that you've had time to adapt better, it might be safe to let you use these at last."

One of the fledges gave a chirp.

"Why only now?"

Without missing a beat, their instructor lifted a short bow from the rack. Only it wasn't. It was a longbow. It merely appeared as a child's toy, fragile and small when put in the mighty Arvian's talons. It took Grey's mind a few moments to recognize the disparity in size.

"Here. Draw this as you would normally, and hit the target downrange." He ordered, placing the bow into the fledge's hands along with a training arrow. He gestured down range to a solitary wooden target some hundred feet away.

The fledge turned and drew the bow back in a single, practised motion that was as fluid as any disciplined archer could hope for as he sighted along the arrow.

Grey's sharp hearing heard the tortured squeal of the wood and the string as it was drawn back with far greater force than it had ever been made to. The entire bow tore violently in half with a snap like pine trees freezing and breaking in the silent winter.

The fledge cursed loudly, dropping the shattered bow and shaking his talons from where the sharpened wood had sliced along his forearm and fingers. A gash from the bowstring had shaved his pelt from elbow to wrist.

The instructor tutted quietly.

"That was a hundred and fifty-pound longbow, and you snapped it like a twig, Ulricson. This is the same as your staff training. If you do not temper yourself for the force, you will accidentally kill yourself or someone else from your carelessness."

His gaze turned back to the rest of the fledges.

"Arvian bows as we forge them can easily be upwards of four hundred pounds in draw strength. That is comparable to an unchanged siege weapon. If you fumble with one of those, the string will snap back with enough force to carve a chunk from your forearm if not break bones or take talons clean off. By the time you realize your mistake, the damage will be done. Similarly, we had you bring in the stone targets because-"

He paused for effect, lifting one of the war bows and a matching arrow from the bucket beside it. He notched and drew the arrow back against his beak. It was easily a four or five-foot-long shaft. With a snap of the string, the arrow loosed, crossing the gap between him and the target in the blink of an eye. It didn't so much impact the target as it simply exploded the wooden planks that made it up, before continuing to sail down range until it buried itself in the dirt another hundred yards distant, sinking up to the brightly coloured guide feathers.

"-Of that. Each stone target has a vertical slot carved down the centre, a talon width wide. You will practice daily until you can split three such blocks in succession at two hundred and fifty paces. Depending on how quickly you can learn, this will either take you a day, or a month."

By the end of the first day, only a scant handful of them had even managed to hit their target.

Grey had at least been a decent hunter before his ritual changes. He took one of the sturdy-looking bows with a lazy familiarity and spent a few minutes drawing and relaxing the string slowly back and forth as the sun rose on their second day practising with the bows.

Other fledges had begun to loose arrows downrange, and quite a few of them went well and truly far, soaring clean over the target stones and into the distant field behind.

Once, such a long shot might have seemed like pure luck for Grey. Even the best-unchanged archers he knew would have struggled to consistently make a shot at range.

Beside him, Yarsa was busy swearing at her bow as she notched another arrow. She might have been the best fighter in their entire fledge group were it not for her utter disdain for bows. She plinked the shot downrange, but it soared clean over the black she'd aimed for and into the field beyond. She cursed again, snarling with frustration as she ran her talons down her hackles to smooth them back down. At once, they sprung back up with her anger.

Grey chuckled to himself and notched an arrow in his bowstring. His eyes were fixed downrange, sharp and focused like an eagle zeroing on prey.

"Don't compensate as much for the drop. The shots fly far truer for longer than they would have before."

"Don't think to teach me, Grey. I'll give you more red to paint your pelt with. Let's see you do better with these stupid things."

"Suit yourself..." He shrugged and settled into the shot. He aimed where he might have before, and then lowered his aim to be more direct. Arrows with a higher velocity dropped less. When he released his talons from around the string, the arrow flew straight and true right downrange.

There was a loud crack of stone as the arrow struck, gouging a large chip from the surface of the target. It wasn't the clean split he'd hoped for, but-

"Good. That was damn close Grey. Again." Their instructor tutted as he walked along the row of practising fledges. Yarsa snarled.

"Aim lower with your next shot, like a line between the arrow and the target." Grey turned, offering the advice to Yarsa. She glared at him a moment, before in a blisteringly quick motion, she lifted the bow, drew, and loosed. A heartbeat later, there was a much deeper crack as her first target broke in two.

Grey blinked, looking at it for a moment. She hadn't actually hit the carved gouge in the brick. She just struck near enough and with enough rage behind the action that it worked.

She cocked her head smugly at him when he looked back to her, the female's hackles bristling with challenge.

"Maybe you just need to draw it back more." She suggested with a mocking, singsong tone.

Grey chuffed once and turned back to take his next shot, muttering under his breath.

---

There was no timeframe for completing one's time as a Fledgling. This was a point that was emphasized over and over, through the repetitive training, sermons, teaching, lesson after lesson, over and over, drilling their new being and new lives and reverence for the sun and its blessings into their heads like a proctor beating misbehaving students across the back of the heads.

They would be ready when they were ready. For Grey, mercifully, he was a quick learner and had been learning their ways for a long time before his change. In a sense, he had quite a head start compared to some.

His new form grew familiar to him. His strengths and weaknesses, both old and new, became clear. He saw with the keenness of a hawk circling above and smelled with the sharpness of a bloodhound tracking. When he moved, it was with the trained silence of a hunter in the woods.

For practice, they had stalked a group of unchanged hopefuls through the woods nearby as they went about their own lessons, picking out herbs and roots of varying uses to the tribe. Alertness was something that was always preached, but seldom practised, and complacency came with a cost. Just because you thought you were safe, did not mean you were. They'd taken three of them down before the fourth even noticed something was amiss.

Yarsa had unceremoniously dumped the last unconscious unchanged in a pile of fall leaves by the path. They would wake up later on, and shamefully have to march back to town to report what had happened to their instructors. Yarsa spent the entire walk back to the village trying to stifle her evil cackling under her breath. She enjoyed fighting far too much, but... She was also damn good at it. None of them would deny that.

So too though, was Grey. Of all their fledglings, it had been he who had made the most progress from where his skills had been when he began. A simple desire to not be beaten to death by the angry female Arvian his instructor constantly paired him with, as if out of some sadistic delight, had driven him out of necessity to get good or get beaten.

At the very least, he could hold his ground with her or against her. When it had come time for them to hunt with bows, he'd returned with a stag on his shoulders, all rather proud of how cleanly the kill had been made. Yarsa had returned about a sunmark after him with her bow wrapped around the neck of a boar, the thick string dug into its throat.

One couldn't fault her results, but her method perhaps needed more refinement.

---

It was early winter when his name had been called one morning, and he'd been pulled aside from their usual lessons. Gentle snowfall had begun to coat the higher plains and woods of the surrounding areas, and the sun's light and warmth had themselves become commodities. They had spent extra lessons aiding gatherers and hunters to help stockpile for if and when the weather turned harsh.

"The Sun's light favours you, Grey. You've made good progress, and your dedication to your new kin has been unwavering. We offer you an opportunity for advancement among your peers, to become a full-fledged Arvian." The priest spoke with measured and chosen words, though Grey hung onto them with keen enthusiasm.

"What would you ask of me?" Grey asked, kneeling in deference as the priest stood, and his instructor watched wordlessly from the back of the room.

"A solo hunt, to prove your skill. One of the unchanged merchants from the city was stalked by something in the night as he returned from Sunstone. It's north. Far north. News from that area is slow to reach the rest of our kin. He described it as large and unnervingly quiet, but did not get a clear look at it." He tapped the point of his ceremonial staff upon a map, carved into the stone of the wall, gesturing to a forest north of them, perhaps two days' travel.

"If it is dangerous, it could be a risk to both the people and commerce in the area. Much trade flows from the north road from other cities and settlements, as do travellers and pilgrims. You are to find it, and if you are able, kill the creature. Do this, and you will be given the First's blessing."

Grey could barely contain his excitement. A proper hunt!

He made haste to pack his belongings into a travelling kit, drawing a set of thicker, padded leather armour from the stores. The protection it provided would be minimal, but it might resist a creature bite if he was lucky. Mostly, it was to keep his pelt dry in the heavy snowfall that had fallen on his assigned hunting ground. Arvians were hardy creatures, but once any beast got wet in freezing temperatures, hypothermia did not discriminate or show mercy.

Remember your training. A patient hunter will find his prey, and a disciplined one will bring it down in a single blow. His instructor had nodded to him at the city gates. Yarsa had flown into a fit of anger when she'd found out that he had been selected for the first hunt.

When she had finally stopped trying to bludgeon him to death with her spear haft, she'd just huffed a harsh warning.

"Don't become the hunted."

---

Well, when two days had turned into a week's journey north, he feared that was exactly what had happened.

Another caravan had been expected on his way, or so he'd been told in the last town he'd passed. When they hadn't crossed paths once the snow had begun to fall, he started expanding his search off the well-worn road as well.

After another day north in the snow, he'd found them alright. The canvas cover on the wagons had been shredded, the horses little more than bloody messes of bones and scraps staining the otherwise pristine snow that had fallen upon the trail.

One of the owners, or at least what was left of them, he'd found against a rock by the roadside, where they had apparently managed to drag themselves away from the scene of carnage. It wasn't even possible to tell what species they had been, much less what gender. Deep claw gouges had eviscerated the unchanged from collar to thigh and eviscerated the remains with bites and scratches.

The bodies were cold already, he thought, as he examined them carefully with his talons, but it was not yet frozen.

Perhaps a day old at most. Most, but not all of the blood on the snow had been covered with fresh powder. Thick, padded tracks, easily the size of a Dire wolf or an Iron Boar circled the ground seemingly at random, as if the predator had paced around its kill, or perhaps played with it before it died. The thought made Grey wince in sympathy.

Whatever death had befallen the caravaneer's, it had not been a swift, nor a clean one. There was nothing to be done for them now.

There was not much sun to be seen in this hellish place. Everything beyond fifty feet in any direction simply became a white haze where sunlight reflected from the falling snow into an impenetrable fog. Even with his vision, far sharper than any unchanged, weather became the ultimate balancer. Even he could not see through the clouds and snow, as thick as soup in a cauldron.

He lifted his spear and turned. The tightly bound pack between his shoulder blades made only the quietest rustle of leather and buckles as they shifted before the sound was snatched away by the wind as it picked up.

For just a second, the endless fog had eyes, sharp, predatory... Hungry. It watched the crouching Arvian from between the trees, and for an instant, Grey's hackles rose, the long cresting feathers of his head and neck standing on end. He trusted his senses enough to know when something was a trick of his eyes, and the golden eyes among the thick trunks had been anything but an illusion.

And anything that could size up an Arvian as anything but an apex predator was a creature one should keep their guard around.

When his hackles had settled, and the unnerving sensation of being hunted had passed, he broke the lead wagon's frame for kindling and turned the canvas into a makeshift lean-to. When the weather shifted he would hunt. He was not so foolish to wander blindly into another predator's hunting ground when he'd obviously and foolishly walked right into its bait.

"Don't become the hunted." Yarsa's voice in his head mocked him.

Whatever was out there already had his scent, and he didn't even know what it was, but his hackles stayed tense, bristling plumes of grey and amber that never quite relaxed completely. Complacency now would be his death, as surely as the caravaners' had met theirs.

He fed more wood onto his fire as darkness crept in. Moonlight snuck through the trees like fleeting wisps of comfort, but the shadows they cast were longer still.

Quietly, he recited to few fledgling incantations he knew around the dancing flames to encourage them higher. The darkness beyond the fire's light was absolute, save for the vanishing impressions of eyes watching him, stalking him. Glistening eyes seemed to watch him from across the fire, yet whenever he looked again, they vanished just as quickly, leaving him with doubts about his own senses.

The winds had picked up around the high mark of the moons, both waxing in their phases and casting their reflected glow upon the snow.

It was an ill omen for the sun touched, a boon for their erstwhile kin. He hunted by daylight, while most predators slept or rested. But whatever this beast was, it didn't seem like it would be giving him the chance to. It was not ideal, but his instructors had drilled that into them. Conditions were never ideal. The spirits would be disturbed. The weather would be poor. The information wouldn't match the reality of the situation.

Adaptability to these things was what gave Arvians a distinct edge over the unchanged. With his pelt, Grey could not feel the sting of the biting cold, even without his cloak and leathers. Even with the wind whipping up and making the conditions almost blizzard-like, he could still see tenfold better than any unchanged.

He prodded the fire, adding another few pieces of wood to keep the fanned flames well-fueled. Come first light, the winds would hopefully shift and calm, and he would begin seeking his quarry then.

This was a hunt worthy of any Arvian, but his prey was not all that was out there, watching him...

---

Just before dawn, he hunted.

The snow crunched quietly beneath Grey's paws. Ghostly, ashen grey monoliths of the forest stretched out and above him like a spiderweb of branches, filtering out the worst of the snowfall.

He'd dropped his kit back with the caravan and the remains of his fire. He kept only what he needed for the hunt on him, opting to travel light and fast now that the game was afoot.

Brief flashes of motion, of a dark pelt against the tree trunks. Glances of flashing eyes that watched him as he moved.

As surely as he was hunting whatever beast was out here, it was hunting him. He could practically hear Yarsa's condescending laughter mocking him through the wind with each step into the unknown he took.

He gripped his spear tightly, following the fresh tracks in the otherwise pristine snow.

Here, a hare that had crossed to a thicket of frozen bushes. Further along, tracks from a doe and fawn that wandered away from the winding main road. Even a year ago, he could not have hunted with such clarity, as if the details had always been there, but had simply been too fine for him to distinguish from the background of the forest. His ears twitched at every groan from the trees as they shifted in the wind.

Ahead, the trees grew imposing, towering over the floor of the forest like ancient monoliths of wood. Shapes seemed to drift in and out from among the trunks like clouds of fine, icy mist that escaped Grey's nostrils with each breath he took. The winds whipped up in a sudden flurry of powder, forcing him to cover his face as shards of ice flicked off his beak.

And then as quickly as it began, all was still.

Oddly, it felt like he had walked into a bubble. Snow still fell around him, but for twenty feet in all directions, the very air itself seemed to have paused. As Grey stepped forward into the ring, his hackles instantly rose by reflex.

The air here was charged, unnaturally so, like the seconds before a lightning strike. The downy fluff of his chest even stood as if risen by static. His whole body was tensed, ready for an attack, though something was... off.

He'd learned to trust his new senses, and nothing here felt like the predator he had been stalking and stalked by. This was something else, something not among the natural order of things, but of the supernatural.

Every Arvian knew of dreampals, the small guardian and guidance spirits that had a habit of bonding with their kind. It was through them that an Arvian's power was multiplied, enhanced with the energies of the spirits and through whom the power of their ritual flowed. They were sacred beings, prized above all others to serve as guides, companions and even mentors into the bonds between their own forms and the magics beyond the grasp of natural abilities.

And while he had encountered already bonded pals in the forms of those of his mentors and other Arvians who had helped him rise as a fledgling, never had he encountered one outside of his lessons.

The small, waspish orb of light was a curiosity. One moment there had been nothing, and the next, there it was, simply popping into existence as if by... well, magic.

It had no form yet, merely an untethered spirit, shapeless like a ball of clay without a sculptor.

Grey lowered his spear, rising from his hunched position as he took a cautious step forward. After a moment of hesitation, he extended one massive, taloned hand towards the spirit.

"Hello..." He started, and trailed off, his beak opening and closing a few times. This part hadn't exactly been in any of their training... It was just sort of expected that most of them would probably bond with dreampals in their own way in their own time. All of the ones he had seen so far had already been bonded, taken form, and undergone the Suntouched's own rituals to make their appearance a vibrant, amber gold that radiated with the warmth of the sun.

This one seemed small and cold, a shapeless form of energy that hovered like a dancing flame the pale, blue colour of Cereth's moonlight. Yet despite their obvious size differences, like a hawk eyeing off a mouse in its talons, the small spirit did not seem to have anything but curiosity.

The light that made up its form weaved and parted around his talons like morning mist, and yet it did not feel as cold as he expected. It was warm, and soft, like the friendly caress of a soft pet. Vaguely, it brought back memories of childhood, of his life before the change, playing, running, a carefree gentleness that had him grinning almost giddily before he realized it.

Perhaps there was more to dreampals abilities than merely enhancing their own. He chuckled despite himself and the seriousness of his mission, a warbling note of birdsong that rose and fell mirthfully.

The spirit reacted to his sudden change of attitude, floating in a series of quick circles around his outstretched paw bouncing like a ball upon flagstones as it moved. Before his eyes, the being seemed to materialize, gaining form and definition as it changed from merely a wisp of bluish energy.

Elongated, flat feet formed, along with large horns that split and forked between a pair of long, perked rounded ears. A short, blunt muzzle and side-mounted eyes of prey, and yet, as the dreampal seemed to hop and adjust to this new form, its movements became fluid and graceful, until it alighted upon the air before him with all the ease that its hare-like figure would have had upon a glade of grass.

It blinked, watching him curiously for a moment.

Was... this how bonding worked? Sure, it was different for everyone, but he had expected... Something more prepared, perhaps.

The dreampal cocked its horned head to the side, the little Jackalope looking just as confused as he felt.

"Well don't look at me. I'm as confused about this as you look as well!" Grey shot back at his almost accusatory look. With a huff, he sat down in the snow, looking curiously at this... This spirit... Creature.

He held out his paw again, and it lazily hopped its way down to the ground, like it were walking on a set of steps he simply couldn't see. Insistently, the spirit shoved its head under his fingers, clearly expecting a scratch. Grey allowed the newly bonded dreampal to have the moment. He'd heard stories of Arvians who still hadn't bonded with one, despite being years his elders, and here he was, on his first solo quest.

It was funny how such things worked. The spirits clearly had a sense of humour they were not inclined to share with mere mortals.

"Well, we'll have to find a name for you, won't we?" The Arvian ran a paw through his hackles, smoothing the previously agitated crest feathers along his head and neck back down, their vivid amber contrasting starkly with the white snow all around them.

"How about-"

SNAP

The dreampal let out a shill sound of terror and bounded twice across the air from its place at his feet, fleeing at the sound.

"Wait! Come ba-" Grey's hackles stood at once as the air around him shifted, and the sound of claws tearing into bark along with something in free fall caught his ears. It was only thanks to his sharpened senses that he perceived the new threat at all.

He reacted with perhaps half a second to spare, rolling out sideways as the ground around him darkened with shadow. There was a massive, weighty thump as a beast landed hard in the snow where he had been but a moment before, snarling its fury at missing its prey.

A meaty paw swiped out and knocked his roll sideways before he could complete it, tossing him with the ease of an iron boar trampling saplings. His beak flew open in a shrill cry of pain as claws like a butcher's hooks tore through the leathers protecting his back as if they were no more protective than damp papyrus scrolls. To his fortune, the slices were clean and didn't catch on any of the straps, and it was perhaps that fact that saved him from the follow-up blow that slammed into the ground beside his head as he scrambled away.

The beast reared, thumping its forepaws down over and over as he scurried backwards, trying to get away as it attacked again like it was trying to squash a bothersome insect beneath those paws.

Find your feet quickly! Every moment you are less mobile is a moment for your foe to deliver a killing blow! His instructors' words rang loud and clear like he was back in that damn training circle, and at once, Grey twisted, shifting on his shoulder before he tucked his legs beneath himself and spang back to his feet, spear in hand.

The keen-edged feathered blade at the end of the haft caught one of the beast's paws on its down strike, and with a caterwaul of pain, it sprang back, hissing loudly and bearing a pair of elongated, deadly sharp fangs at the Arvian who had more fight than it expected!

Grey parted his beak and hissed right back at the beasty. If it hadn't been trying to actively kill him, he would have admired its hunting technique and naturally coloured pelt of browns and seasonal white patches that made its outline blend into the woods.

Tree cats may not have carried the most intimidating name, but it was short by necessity, and that fact by itself commanded respect. They typically made quick and messy kills, either waiting patiently for hours by injured beasts and prey for others to investigate or as had happened to him, dropping from the trees above onto an unsuspecting fool.

Then there was the fact that the beast was damn near larger than even Grey, and probably weighed as much as himself and half as much again.

The claws it dug into the snow gave it supreme agility, even in bad conditions, and on flat ground, between the trees, Grey knew at once he was outmatched by no small margin. This was the beast's hunting ground, and he'd been foolish to try and make it the hunted on its home turf.

His talons closed around his spear tighter, wavering and thrusting the point towards the hissing face of fury before him, forcing the massive predator back a step before it knocked his spear aside and lunged, less for his throat, and more just for his entire face and upper torso, such was the span of its bared fangs.

He sidestepped at the last second and instead was caught by one of its paws on the way past, knocking him to the ground. He kept his grip on his spear tight, unwilling to part with his weapon, and rolled away once again, springing back to his feet.

He thrust the point of the spear at the angry beast as soon as he found his feet, hissing again in his own feral way, challenging the beast.

His heart was pounding, every pulse throbbing in his head like an anvil ringing. He could feel wet blood cloying in his pelt along his spine, tinting the end of his amber hackles red as Arvian circled beast circled, unwavering and unwilling to let their eyes slip in even a moment of distraction.

Huffing through his nares, grey knew his fight-or-flight reflexes were in full swing, but any chance of retreat had long since passed. It was all he could do to keep holding his ground as the tree cat prowled around him in the snow in an increasingly tightening circle, keeping him stuck firmly within the small clearing.

And if I don't find some way to turn this fight around, my only contribution to the tribe will be as a snack to a predator!

Grey tried his best to ignore the aches in his muscles, and the razor-edged pain along his back from its claws, hoping to the spirits that the wounds were in fact less serious than they felt. The pain went deep, and tears from claws seldom healed kindly to the scar bearer.

But it was limping as well. More each step, he noticed the thin trail of fresh red ichor upon the powdery, pristine snow as it avoided pressing its left forepaw down.

However, the beast was also old. Just from its size, and the silvery sheen to the long stripe of dark fur along its side, it was clear this was no fresh whelp. Its sabered fangs were long, and its eyes scanned and appraised him with the raw cunning of a veteran of a thousand hunts past, and the fury of a creature not accustomed to being challenged.

Neither made a move to attack prematurely, both seemingly content to wait, but even as the seconds ticked by, Grey knew he would be forced to break before the massive Tree-cat. The warmth leaking along the length of his spine and tail, along with the steady throbs of pain from the gashes across his back was a constant reminder of that. He would weaken and bleed out long, long before the agile predator that circled him.

He grunted as he made a probing thrust that the agile feline simply sidestepped to move out of range of, not even breaking its pace.

But suddenly, an opening appeared, or, more specifically, the dreampal did.

The little blue figure bound into the clearing, appearing with a pop of shifting air as it chittered and hopped rapidly before the Tree cat's face. It's head whipped around with a snap of teeth that the little jackalope barely avoided. What it didn't dodge, however, was the swipe of a massive, furry mitten.

With a startled squeak, the dreampal rolled twice in mid-air, before bouncing off the snow and sliding to a rest at the base of one of the trees surrounding the clearing.

Grey didn't waste the opportunity though. He lunged in fast, moving with a speed that would have been utterly impossible for his former, unchanged form. With an Arvian screech, he drove his spear forward in a mighty thrust, catching the tree cat between the ribs and sinking the haft fully halfway into its chest cavity, twisting it sharply between his talons.

The beast let out a yowl of agony, leaping back and knocking him away with a swipe of its claws. The spear haft snapped in two as Grey was tossed like a ragdoll over the forest floor, grunting as the air was knocked entirely from his lungs.

With a pained hiss, the massive tree cat approached him, staggering in its steps, but its eyes seemed to know already that the wound it had been dealt was a mortal one. It slumped over into the snow a few feet away from him, letting out a shuddering, last breath before it sagged, closing its eyes as its spirit fled the mortal realm.

Grey rolled over onto his back with a sigh, staring without thought up into the canopy for a few long moments as he tried to catch his breath. The cold against the deep scratches across his spine felt nice at least, numbing them to a dull, throbbing ache.

Above, the clouds parted briefly, revealing a hazy outline of the bright cobalt blue moon, Cereth.

He snorted in amusement as the wind changed, once again obscuring the moon. Grey watched as the first rays of dawn's light glittered on the clouds far above, as day broke at last.

Naturally, he'd have to bring something of the beast back with him to prove that the task had been done, but then there was still the matter of the dreampal, who-

Shit.

The small spirit wasn't wherever the tree cat had knocked it. It was not common, but some creatures did have the ability to interact with the spirits in their own ways. In the case of the Tree cat, that way was violence.

Grey rolled over and pushed himself back to his feet, his back and legs protesting against the motion the entire way up. Using the broken haft of his spear as a makeshift cane, he probed forward, poking around the lumps of snow at the base of the trunk where he had last seen the critter. He pushed the staff into each in turn, looking around for the telltale faint glow of the dreampal's manifested figure.

The moment he thought to give up his search, however, a quiet chittering over his shoulder made the Arvian's hackles rise in surprise, shipping around only to discover the little glowing creature floating just beside his shoulder as if it had been watching him the entire time. Grey let out a sigh, shaking his head.

"Determined to cause trouble, aren't you little one? And sneaky as well!" He chuckled. The little dreampal just tilted its head, giving a quietly amused squeak.

Well, the next part of bonding is finding a name... There was little doubt the critter had chosen him to be its partner... Not to mention that its distraction may well have saved his life.

"Furry, horned hare... You're an odd one for sure... How about... Wispfur?" He suggested with a shrug.

The dreampal- No... His Dreampal, now, did a pleased little spin on the spot without moving its legs, reminding him that like so many other things the spirits did, it wasn't merely all that it appeared to be.

"Well, that settles that." Grey nodded, his beak curling in a smile. He'd slain a dangerous creature, and managed to find his dreampal, all before sunrise! An amused chirp passed his beak as he ran his fingers across its curved tip.

Now all he had to do was collect the proof and return it to his instructors, but there was another matter that needed attending to first.

"Wispfur, will you help me?"

---

Final rights were important, and while he'd done what he could for the poor caravaneers, now that it was safe to do so, he tried to make good on his lessons when it came to their rights and rituals, the ones he'd learned even as an unchanged fledge. If one's spirit was to be carried safely to the rest of the spirits where their dreampals resided, such traditions had to be observed.

With his dreampal bounding around and keeping watch, just in case, Grey tore broken slats of wood from the remains of the wagons, constructing a makeshift pyre. It was nothing so formal or ordered as they may have used for one of his Kin's dying flames, but he wasn't about to ruin his knife trying to use it like an axe to fell a nearby tree for wood. The fog had lifted, and the sun's warmth was at least comforting as he set about his solemn task.

He lay the bodies beside each other before opening a small flask from his travelling pack, spilling the distilled Flamewater over them, before taking a swill for himself. His hackles rippled as the potent liquor raced down his throat like a scorching ray of desert sunlight.

He furrowed his brow in concentration as he tried to remember the basic spell work for summoning fire, but after a moment of frustrating muttering, he gave up and struck the fire with flint and his knife. The flames caught quickly, engulfing the pyre with a rush of air as the greedy fire consumed all that it touched, and quietly, he mouthed the words and made the signs, ushering their spirits off into the sunlight while Wispfur watched quietly from his shoulder.

When smoke stopped rising from the slowly shrinking flames, it was done. He doused the rest with snow, scattering what was left of the ashes to the fields.

Certain he was safe now at last, he stood, and looked between the wagons and the path back towards his home, far to the south. They had been loaded with cured leathers, ropes, and farming tools, freshly forged. Goods that no doubt, those who had been expecting them would surely miss in short order. For a moment, he considered setting them ablaze as well, so that no highwaymen or brigands would claim them as spoils, but perhaps there was another solution.

He climbed aboard the rearmost wagon, searching for the caravan master's chest. The small lock upon it he broke from its hinges with a swift kick. From inside, he pulled out papers and a coin purse. Most of the wagons here would have both ordered goods from the northern settlements and cities, as well as more general goods for trading and barter along the way.

Typically if they were smart, they would have an agreement on how goods were to be dispersed among the traders in the event of any ill fortune befalling them.

The note and coin he would carry to the nearest town on his way back, providing for new wagoners to come and collect the goods, and see them to their intended destinations, as was proper. He stuffed them into his pack, alongside the pair of elongated fangs of the tree cat that had slain their previous holders, a grisly trophy of his first solo hunt.

No doubt there would be renown aplenty when he returned. Plus, with the addition of his dreampal, well, options for the future were quickly opening up for him to choose his path among the tribe.

He extended his arm and whistled twice.

"Come on Wispfur. We have a long way to go yet before we're home!" He chuckled, leaving the caravan behind as he began the long walk South, the weightless dreampal upon his shoulder chittering merrily.

It wasn't at all how he'd imagined his first hunt ending, but all considered, it was a far better outcome than he'd hoped. He had proven himself capable, Grey, Suntouched Arvian, blessed of the First. Surely even his instructors would be impressed by such a strong showing for their tribe and kin!

The very thought brought a smile to his lips along with an amused chuckle, earning a curious sound from his dreampal.

"Hmm? Oh, I was just imagining the look on Yarsa's face after we get back when she realizes how high I set the bar for her first hunt..."